


Something Fishy

by SeventyAndSunny



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crack, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventyAndSunny/pseuds/SeventyAndSunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jackson murders Scott's goldfish while Stiles is supposed to be watching him, Stiles enlists Derek's help in getting a replacement fish before Scott arrives back to the dorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Fishy

**Author's Note:**

> It really is as stupid as it sounds.

Stiles is pissed. He’s pull-his-hair-out, pop-a-hate-boner, might-puke-the-hotdog-he-had-for-lunch kind of angry. So angry, in fact, he might kill something. Or, well, he might kill _another_ something. He glances over at Juice, floating sideways in his bowl, and curses the damn fish for flipping his fins in farewell the one weekend Scott’s gone.

Obviously, Scott will blame Stiles when he gets home, and while Stiles knows Scott won’t get mad, he’ll frown and pout and sniffle and Stiles is three finals away from freedom and has no time to deal with that. He loves Scott to death, but there’s a point in the semester where students snap and forget how to act like empathetic human beings. And anyways, half the time Stiles can’t remember to feed himself, how could Scott expect him to remember to feed the fish?

The fish that Stiles is painfully aware of being Scott’s ticket into Alpha Beta Omega. Each of the final recruits were given a fish and a promise that if the fish was still swimming at the end of the semester, the owner would be welcomed into the fraternity with open arms. Stiles’ fraternity just made them sleep naked in the cellar for a night, like normal hazing rituals.

He should’ve predicted this happening when Scott had traded him the fish food for his bus pass.

He solemnly takes the fish bowl into his hands and glances at the clock. It’s Sunday, a little past eleven, and just a week shy of the end of the semester. It’s the perfect weather out in the hallway for a funeral for a fish, and he walks the dead body slowly towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.

The smell wafts up from the fish bowl, causing his eyes to water. He’s not actually sure how long the fish has been dead. He hasn’t glanced at him since Friday, when Scott had asked him to feed him because he had to go home to celebrate his anniversary with Allison.

As he rounds the corner into the bathroom, he glances Jackson’s back at the sink and hurries into the nearest stall. Jackson Whittemore lives in the dorm across from him and Scott, and he is Stiles’ absolute worst enemy. It’s a kind of hatred that could rival Batman and the Joker. He glances at Juice, dead in his fish bowl, and wonders briefly what would happen if he flung the bowl over the top of the door and onto Jackson.

He’d probably die, but it’d be worth it.

He waits for Jackson to leave because the last thing he needs is for Jackson to know he killed Scott’s fish. It’s then, as he’s waiting in the bathroom stall, that he realizes that Jackson is talking to someone. He presses his ear against the door to listen.

“Danny says Greenberg’s fish is dead.” There’s a pause, and then he continues. “Still waiting on the status of McCall’s fish, though I doubt he liked the bleach I put in his bowl. I’m sure Stilinski will come out crying in an hour, once his hungover ass wakes up.”

Stiles looks down at Juice, his mouth dropping open in shock and his heart pounding in his chest. _“Sabotage,”_ He whispers, and he’s absolutely seething. Of course Jackass Shitmore is behind this. He’s a recruit for Scott’s fraternity’s enemy, and killing out the recruits is a damn good battle strategy. Stiles would be impressed if he wasn’t pissed that Jackson ruined his best friend’s chances at Greek life.

Also, Juice was a cool ass fish, and killing him is just plain rude.

He’s frozen in anger, clutching the fishbowl so hard he’s almost certain it’ll shatter, when he hears Jackson shuffle out and the door bang behind him. It’s a good thing Jackson left while Stiles was still planning his revenge, or else Stiles might’ve done something stupid like punch him in the face.

He kneels down next to the toilet and lets Juice’s body flow from the bowl into its pearly gateway to Heaven. He flushes the toilet after a moment of silence, and then stands with a vengeance in his eyes. Like hell he’s going to let Jackson win this round.

He leaves the bathroom in a hurry and books it down the hallway towards Derek Hale’s dorm room. Derek Hale is known as a lot of things on campus, but Stiles likes to think of him as an obnoxious stick-in-his-ass guy who’s only cool because his older sister sells fake IDs. That, and he’s fucking hot, but most importantly, he has a car, and is mostly willing to drive you anywhere for the right price.

Right now he needs to get to Petco, and he’s hoping the three dollars he has in his pocket is enough.

He reaches Derek’s door at a little past eleven-ten, and starts banging on it obnoxiously, because Stiles learned a long time ago that’s how you get attention, and also because Scott’s supposed to be home at three. He’s on a strict time schedule.

Derek opens up his door after his third round of knocking looking like he had spent the last ten minutes holding a lemon in his mouth. He shields the inside of his dorm room with his body, but from the little bit of the room Stiles can see, he notices that it’s completely dark. He almost feels bad, but like previously mentioned, Stiles has reached the point of the semester where he doesn’t feel empathy.

“What?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow. He glances down at the fish bowl that Stiles is holding. “Why do you have a fish bowl?”

“Juice,” Stiles says sadly, “Is dead. _Murdered_. Jackson.”

Derek glances back up at Stiles. He notes that the other boy is still in his pajamas, his dark hair a complete mess. Stiles wonders if maybe he’s hiding a girl in the room. That would explain him blocking the door like a boulder.

“I’m assuming Juice is a fish?” Derek says, his tone hitching up in a question at the same time as his one eyebrow jumps up to meet the other. Stiles finds it fascinating how in tune his body hair is with his voice.

“Juice _was_ a fish until Jackson murdered him.”

 “Jackson isn’t here.”

Stiles snorts. “Of course he isn’t,” he says, “he’s off poisoning innocent fish. He probably kicks puppies too. The asshole. The point of me being here is that you have a car, and I do not, because I’m a poor college student and how in the world would they expect me to be able to afford a hundred dollars per month for a parking pass? So, I need a ride to Petco because this stupid goldfish was Scott’s ticket to his fraternity and I’ll be damned if I let Jackson Whitmore take that away from him, because Jackson is a terrible human being who needs to lose.”

Derek blinks at him, and Stiles wonders for a moment if he needs to repeat himself, but then Derek grins. He leans cockily against the door frame. “And why should I help you?”

This is the moment Stiles has been waiting for. The battle between wits. He’s ready to serve Derek with banter like a tennis ball.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Because I said please.”

“You didn’t say please,” Derek points out, but then says, “I’ll get my car keys.”

He’s disappointed for a moment that their battle ended so abruptly, but he remembers his time limit. He realizes as Derek walks back into his dorm room that he doesn’t actually need the fish bowl in his hands, and walks down the hallway towards his own dorm room. Inside, he deposits the bowl back onto its spot on Scott’s desk and grabs his wallet. Then he’s back out the door, where he runs into Derek.

“Ready?” Derek asks, one eyebrow raised in annoyance.

“I’m always ready,” Stiles says coolly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. Derek ranks his eyes up and down Stiles’ body, and Stiles covers his chest with his arms, feeling like a rabbit right before a wolf pounces. “What?” He hisses.

“Are you sure?” Derek says, amusement coloring his eyes a bright hazel. Stiles groans, because of course he’s ready, and looks down. He stalls, bites his lip, and winces at the rubber ducky PJs he’s wearing.

“They’re comfortable,” He says. He turns back into his dorm room and slams the door in Derek’s face. Derek snorts, and Stiles fills with a hatred for him.

He slips on a pair of jeans and a cleaner hoodie and reemerges from his dorm room at eleven-twenty-three. Derek is leaning against the wall, flipping his keys between his fingers like some leather-jacket-wearing-90’s-movie-badboy. Stiles feels sick at the sight of him.

The two walk down the hallway towards the elevators. Once there, Stiles curses the fact that they’re on the twelfth floor. The elevator ride down takes ten minutes of stopping and loading, and the pair are completely silent the whole time.

Once they reach Derek’s car, Stiles finally asks, “How much is this going to cost me?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Derek answers with an evil grin. Stiles narrows his eyes.

“It’s going to cost me a lot then, huh?”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but he nods his head towards his Camaro and unlocks the door so Stiles can get in. He narrows his eyes towards Derek once he gets into the car. “This is going to cost me a shit ton, isn’t?” He repeats.

Derek just smirks in return. The asshole.

Stiles leans back as Derek shoves the key in the ignition, but the car stay stationary and Stiles glares at the other male. “What?” He hisses. He has a strict time schedule right now.

“Put your seat belt on.”

Stiles looks at the strap dangling next to him. He stares at the kid next to him, his mouth dropping in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not,” Derek says forcefully, “My mother would kill me if I get pulled over.”

“A mama’s boy,” Stiles mumbles as he clicks the seat belt across his chest. “Never would’ve guessed.”

Derek doesn’t look at Stiles, but he does pull the car out of the parking lot and onto the street and Stiles decides to watch the window. Stiles may be excellent at small talk but Derek isn’t really the type of person he wants to socialize with. Actually, that’s a lie. Stiles would love to socialize with Derek, along with a bunch of other things, but Stiles saw Derek getting buddy-buddy with Jackson during the first week of school and Stiles hates him on principal.

Never mind the fact that Stiles hasn’t really seen Derek talking to him since.

Stiles leans his head back, listening to the thum of the car on the road. It’s too early on a Sunday for there to be many other cars, but there’s still the occasional student mulling around. After a few minutes, Derek pulls out of the boundaries of the campus, leading the two into where the school bleeds into the city.

Derek glances at Stiles. “Do you know where there’s a Petco?”

Stiles blinks for a moment, letting the question sink it. He had assumed that Derek know where there was a pet store, after all, Derek was the one who was from L.A. At least, Stiles had assumed he was.

“Aren’t you from L.A.?”

Derek blinks at him, his eyebrows coming together in a way that Stiles would describe as adorable if he didn’t hate him. “No?” He says, his voice sounding like a question, and Stiles isn’t really sure if Derek doesn’t know, or if he’s asking why Stiles would think that.

Because he’s an asshole, he decides it’s because Derek doesn’t know. “Sad, dude, that you have no idea where you grew up. Were you that sheltered?”

Derek scowls. “Why would you think I was from L.A.?”

Stiles doesn’t know the answer. “You look like it?”

“I’m from Washington,” Derek snorts, “Seattle.”

“Close enough,” Stiles retorts, but Derek doesn’t even bother saying that it really isn’t. “Well I have no idea where there’s a Petco, but there has to be one, right? Or do people in L.A. not have pets? Even Beacon Hills had a petsmart, not that I was allowed in it. Accidently lose a gecko one time and all of the sudden you’re banned for life.”

Derek’s laugh is unexpected. Stiles didn’t think he was actually listening. Most people don’t listen when he rants.

“This is ridiculous,” Derek says. Stiles agrees, but he doesn’t voice it. “Google it with your phone, idiot.”

Stiles huffs but he pulls out his cellphone regardless. He types in his destination and allows his smartphone to fill the silence. _“In one thousand feet, turn right.”_

Derek moves his car along with the commands, and Stiles decides to scroll through facebook while he waits to finally get all of this over with.

Derek is a silent force next to him, the only sound he’s making coming from the rustle of his clothes. Stiles tries not to think about the fact that he’s sitting next to Derek Hale, or that Derek is helping him. He knows this won’t be free.

He tries not to think about how much it’s going to cost.

Stiles stops thinking about Derek when he scrolls across the batch of fresh pictures of Scott and Allison, both wearing bright smiles. Stiles hopes this all works out so Scott doesn’t lose his bright smile.

His phone chirps with another command, and Stiles switches back to the app to see how long. It tells him five minutes, and he sighs, closing his eyes.

_“Your destination is on the right.”_

Stiles is surprised, and he eagerly looks up as Derek pulls to the side. He blinks, looking at the empty road in front of them, and glances to the right, where there’s a line of small houses. When he looks back, Derek is frowning. “Your phone is broken.”

He looks back at the app, and sure enough, his phone thinks there’s a Petco right next to them. “I don’t understand.”

Derek looks like he’s torn between laughing at Stiles’ expense and glaring at Stiles’ stupidity. “We are not at Petco.”

“I understand that,” Stiles hisses, pointing a long finger at Derek, who doesn’t even flinch, “Honestly, I’m not that stupid. I don’t understand why my phone would bring us _here._ Where even are we?”

“I don’t know,” Derek answers, bluntly, “I was following your phone.”

And God, Stiles is suddenly remembering his dad’s warnings about ‘Bad parts’ of L.A. _“I live on a college campus,”_ he had told his dad, _“you can’t really get much worse than that.”_ He has seen things. Things you can’t unsee. There’s a point in the semester….

But right now, there’s a man walking towards their car, and Stiles is two seconds away from letting out a very unattractive screech because Derek Hale might be the single most buff guy in their school (Stiles thinks he’s a body builder in his free time) but that is no match for a gun. At least, it’s not going to help Stiles, Derek, on the other hand might be able to intimidate the bullet back into the gun.

Derek doesn’t seem as worried as Stiles’ is when the man knocks a knuckle against the passenger side window. He rolls it down like the traitor he is. “Are you two boys lost?” The man asks.

Derek sends him a dazzling smile. “Do know where there’s a pet store around here?”

The man blinks, confusion evident in his face as his eyes shift from Derek to Stiles. “Alpha Beta Omega?” He asks.

Derek laughs, nodding his head in a charming way, and Stiles is completely lost for words. “This idiot killed his roommate’s ticket in,” he answers, and the man lets out a rolling laugh.

“I know what that’s like,” the man says, “You’re going to head to the end of the street, take a right, and then go straight. It’ll be on your left.”

Derek thanks him, and Stiles relaxes into his seat. The man taps the hood once, smiles, and says one last thing as the two pass. “Be careful now, boys. This is a bad neighborhood.” Stiles nearly shits his pants.

“What was that?” Stiles asks once they’re down the street.

“What?” Derek says gruffly back.

“The whole ‘Charmy-charmy’ tip toeing on flirting with the creepy man who was probably a murderer. What kind of person are you that you can just smile your way out of death?” Stiles stares at him, and Derek has an annoyed expression placed on his face.

“It’s so obvious that your dad is a police officer.”

Stiles narrows his eyes, unsure of what exactly that’s supposed to mean. What? That he’s paranoid? Stiles is so not paranoid; he just has common sense. “Well, it’s obvious that your parents are,” and he stops, because he isn’t really sure what Derek’s parents are. He frowns. “Drug dealers?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “My parents aren’t drug dealers.”

“Well there has to be some reason why you would think that engaging random men on the street is perfectly acceptable. How’d you know my dad was a cop anyways?”

Derek actually snorts, like Stiles is an idiot, “When you moved in, your dad was dressed in full sheriff uniform. Why else do you think you didn’t get invited to parties the whole first month of school?”

Stiles never really thought about that. “Well, I’m still convinced your parent’s are some type of criminals. I know about your sister’s fake ID business,” Stiles says as Derek pulls into a parking spot. He springs from the car, running into the pet store before Derek even has the keys out of the ignition.

He rushes over to the fish tanks, making the poor worker at the cash register jump, and the couple buying dog food stare with their mouths gaping. Derek is much more behaved, and calmly informs the girl that they will need a fish once she’s done ringing up her customers.

After, he walks over to Stiles, who has his face pressed against the glass like a child. “Why are there so many different kinds?” He whines.

“You’re probably looking for just a standard gold fish,” Derek answers, pointing towards a tank farther down the wall. Stiles walks over to it, and watches as a mass of fish swim around the tank.

He watches them, and the cashier comes over, wearing an awkward smile. “So you need a goldfish?” She asks, and Derek tells her yes.

She goes to grab her gear, filling a bag half full with water and then, wielding a net, she goes fishing. She has a fish confined in her net, pulling it out, when Stiles yells out “Wait!”

The girl stills, startled, and looks at Stiles with wide eyes. “Is there a problem?” She asks.

“Juice had a black spot, right next to his fin. That one doesn’t have any spots. Scott will know.”

The worker’s smile wavers. She looks over at Derek, who simply says, “Goldfish aren’t supposed to have black spots, Stiles.”

“What makes you the fish expert?” Stiles challenges, narrowing his eyes at the man next to him.

“My godfather is a vet,” he answers.

Stiles snorts, “I know goldfish aren’t supposed to have black spots, but Juice did and Scott thought that it was _super cool_ and if he comes home to a completely gold fish he’s going to know and he can’t know that I killed his fish because he’s too good of a person to continue to pledge after he knows his fish died.” Stiles points towards the fish tank, “I need that fish.”

The fish in question is in the very back corner of the tank, barely visible through the mass of other gold fish. The worker laughs and looks towards Derek again, probably hoping that he’ll tell her it’s a joke. Instead, he nods, and says, “You heard him.”

Her face falls completely, and she turns back towards the fish tank. She lets the one she caught free, and sets on trying to catch the fish in the corner. She misses him three times, catches different fish on accident five times, and, fifteen minutes after Stiles and Derek got there, she slips on the ladder, and ends up with half of her body in the tank. Stiles almost feels bad, but then she hands him a bag, the fish swimming angrily in it, and growls, “Just take it and go.”

Stiles runs to the car.

Derek very calmly gets into the seat next to him, and the two sit in silence for about a minute before Derek breaks down laughing.

“You’re an evil person,” Stiles hisses.

“You’re the one who made her get that fish in particular.”

Stiles glances at Juice.2 and frowns. “It had to be him.”

Derek shakes his head. “This is going to be one of those stories she tells all her friends.”

He starts driving, and Stiles thinks about it. Derek is probably right, Stiles is going to be one of those customers, but at this point, he’s happy that it’s almost over.

After a few minutes of silence, Derek finally says, “My sister doesn’t make fake IDs.”

Stiles looks over at him, surprised not only by the fact that Derek had spoke, but also by what he said. It’s something that everyone knows about Derek, Stiles had heard it from multiple people on multiple occasions, and Stiles’ friend Malia had gotten her first fake from Derek.

“What.” He says dumbly.

“My sister, she doesn’t make fake IDs,” Derek answers, and adds, after a moment, “I do.” Stiles is incredibly surprised.

“What?” He asks, “Why? How? Where? In your dorm?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because Boyd would totally let me set up in our dorm room,” He says, sarcasm sharp in his tone, “My parents bought me a storage unit when I moved here. They thought that maybe I would need more things than fit in my dorm room. I do it there. I just told everyone Laura was making them, because then no one tries to steal any of my stuff.”

“Why?” Stiles asks. Why would he make fake IDs? Why would he tell Stiles the truth?

“My parents are lawyers.” He answers simply, like it’s enough of an answers, and actually, it is. It makes perfect sense to Stiles, which is probably why he chose to tell him about it. Derek continues anyways, despite the fact that Stiles understands him completely. “My grandfather on my mom’s side was a defense attorney, and my mom met my dad in law school. Harvard. My uncle is a paralegal, my brother, Brandon, is a prosecutor for the Seattle police. Laura is still in law school, and my younger sister has her eyes set on Princeton in the fall. And here I am, at a school that’s trying to be Ivy league but isn’t.”

“Seems to me like your uncle has the right idea,” Stiles says, coolly, “Lawyer without all the school.” Derek shakes his head. Stiles nods. “I get it, there’s been a Stilinski in the sheriff seat in Beacon Hills since the town was founded. It’s a lot to try and live up to.” Derek nods his head, and takes the car down the same path they took to get here. “Is that why you’re so damn charming? Is it like a gene thing?”

Derek smirks. “My sisters are way more charming than me.”

Stiles nods his head trying to decide if he wants to meet his sisters or not. But, that would be weird, considering that after this, Stiles and Derek will probably never talk again. The two turn back down the road, only a few minutes from school, when suddenly a thought occurs to Stiles, and he’s screaming at Derek to stop the car. Derek slams on the breaks, and Juice.2 slides off of Stiles’ lap and onto the floor.

“What?” Derek asks, slightly panicked.

Stiles scoops the fish off the ground, cradling the bag into his arms as he whispers apologies to it. Then, he turns to Derek. “We need to get a fish bowl. Jackson put _bleach_ into the Juice’s bowl. I can’t put him into that bowl. He’ll just die.”

Derek looks amazed at Stiles, as if he hadn’t thought this trip could take any longer than it already has, and then mumbles, “Back to the pet store.”

“Nonononono,” Stiles whispers, urgently, “Not the pet store. That worker _hates_ me. We have to go somewhere else.”

Derek looks at Stiles like he’s being ridiculous. Stiles realizes that despite the fact that Derek himself is quite quiet, his face is very expressive. Stiles won’t admit that he finds this fascinating. “I saw a Walmart across the street from the pet store. We’ll go there instead.”

Derek seems to decide that he’s done with Stiles, because he doesn’t say anything else about his family. Stiles spends the ten minutes it takes to drive to the store telling Juice.2 all about his new home and his dad Scott.

Once the two reach the Walmart, Stiles again springs from the car and rushes inside. It’s almost one-thirty now, and Scott texted Stiles a few minutes ago that he’d be home in an hour. Derek, again, walks inside in a calm manner.

Stiles makes a run towards the pet aisle, and gabs a small fish bowl off the shelf. He makes sure to grab new food, too, in case Jackass decided bleach in the bowl wasn’t enough, but finds himself stalling at the rocks. _What color were the rocks?_

He turns on Derek. “Do you remember what color rocks were in the bowl?” He asks. Derek frowns.

“Blue?”

Stiles doesn’t like the question mark that’s tagged on the end of that, but he decides to roll with it, grabs a bag of glossy blue rocks, and runs to the check out.

This cashier doesn’t even bat an eye as Stiles throws his merchandise onto the conveyor belt. She asks how he is, her voice dull and hard. He says that he’s great, and then there’s nothing more than the sound of the scanner.

“Your total is 10.89,” she tells him. Stiles stills, his hand going to the crumpled couple of bills in his pocket. He has his emergency credit card, but he’s not sure his father would consider this a life or death situation. Even though it technically w _as_.

He lets out a dumb, “Um.”

Derek rolls his eyes, steps forward, and swipes a card. Stiles stares at him in shock, wondering why Derek would pay for this. Derek must know his question, because he says, “I hate Jackson too.”

Stiles spends the rest of the car ride home staring at Derek, trying to figure out why Derek has been nice to him, why he’s dealt with his shit for so long, and why he paid.

Derek pulls into the campus parking lot at two, and despite the fact that Stiles should be sprinting to his door and setting everything up, he’s staring at Derek. Derek quickly gets annoyed and huffs out a tense “What?”

“How much is this going to cost me?” Stiles asks, and he shudders at Derek’s smile.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

?

Scott comes home twenty minutes later, takes one look at Juice.2, and asks Stiles why he bought him new rocks. The original, it turns out, were green. Stiles lamely tells Scott that they were a gift for his Godfish, and despite the fact that Scott doesn’t fully believe him, he never says anything else about it.

After every pledge’s fish dies (with the ‘exception’ of Scott’s) Alpha Beta Omega sends all the kids new fish, and as of the end of the first semester, Derek has yet to tell Stiles how much and when his payment is due, but Stiles isn’t all that worried.

He finds a fake ID for Juice.2 taped to his door the morning after finals, and he doesn’t think he’s ever laughed harder.

**Author's Note:**

> This, like many of my stories, is inspired by a really complicated dream I had in which somebody shot a goldfish I was in charge of watching, and this goldfish, for some reason, was really important, and so I enlisted the help of my college friends in finding a new one. This is my first fanfic I've written, and as a disclaimer I want to mention I don't own teen wolf and am hoping that it doesn't matter that I mentioned real stores in my fic.


End file.
